This is a literal entry from my journal. I never finished writing it. Here is what I have:
It was your birthday. We had been peripheral friends, I saw you at events, causal small talk, formalities, one time we sat in a sauna with a couple of other people. Even without my glasses I could make our your eyes trailing up my skin. I wanted to be your friend, I liked that you were weird and sad and had a particular taste in music. Tall, skinny white boy—I was intrigued. You sent out an email to multiple people, letting us know that you were planning on going to a bar for a birthday drink and wanted us to come. I felt a twitch of excitement.
I wore black tights, black boots, black sweater, a necklace that looked a little bit too much like a leash. The small group met up and I could feel your eyes on me, lingering on the necklace. I prayed for a knot of lust to tie itself in your stomach. Interesting. We walked together over to the bar, I was giddy and ran around, and you followed and made jokes all the way to the bar. The bar was wood paneled and most of the tables were occupied with bearded men and hapless brunettes. After work drinks maybe. We sidled up to the bar crowded with men and you reached for your wallet. I put my hand on your hand, this was the first time I ever touched your skin.